


Hangovers and Confessions

by vindobonensis



Series: The Ring [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Morning After, Sam Winchester Finds Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vindobonensis/pseuds/vindobonensis
Summary: The night before was a whiskey-tinted haze of pleasure. In itself, nothing new for Dean Winchester.But dealing with a sleepy angel with an entirely wrong idea about the state of their relationship?  Yeah, that was definitely a first!





	Hangovers and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Whiskey and Need (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768712), but can be read on its own. Enjoy! :)

The first thing Dean became aware of as he slowly drifted into consciousness was a dull ache pounding at the back of his skull in time with his heartbeat. 

 

 _Hangover_. Great. 

 

The second thing was the sensation of someone sleeping beside him, warm skin pressed against his, joint body heat turning the blankets around them into a warm, comfortable cocoon. Dean shifted his hips experimentally and - yep, that was the tell-tale feeling of last night’s _fun_ crumbling stickily between his legs and on his stomach. 

 

Man, he must have been _wasted_ good and proper if he hadn’t even bothered cleaning up after scoring, leave alone getting back to the bunker. The bunker - he couldn’t even remember leaving it. 

 

A frown crinkled the hunter’s forehead as he reached for the faint memories of the night before through the haze of his hangover. He’d been in the kitchen, on his laptop, with a bottle of Jack, then Cas had come home, he’d said that his grace - _shit._ Cas’ grace! What sort of crappy friend was he to leave the angel alone after that to go out and get laid? 

 

Groaning in pain, but still not managing to wrench open his eyes, Dean shifted to sit up and look for his cell - call home, call Cas, just to gauge how badly he’d messed this up. 

 

But even as he did so, the Winchester was struck by three things at once. A) His one-night stand muttered grumpily at the loss of contact in a voice _much lower_ than Dean was used to. B) Through the sticky residue of crusted semen on his stomach, he felt something hard and hot shift against his thigh. Morning wood. And definitely not his own. And C) (triggered, possibly, by A or B), a flood of memories came rushing back. _Cas drinking with him, getting smashed, making coffee, opening the laptop, the porn, kissing, groping, stumbling towards his bedroom, mattress, Cas jerking him off, sucking him off - Fuck me, Cas, please!_

 

With an undignified yelp and an indignant jolt of pain from his head, Dean Winchester shot upright in bed. 

 

Beside him, Castiel gave a discontented, sleepy grunt at being jostled like this so early in the morning. 

 

Heart battering against his ribcage, Dean sat in his bed, frozen in shock, and stared down at the mop of dark, disheveled hair sticking out from the sheets to his right. Every muscle in his body tensed in preparation for flight, several billion synapses in his brain firing simultaneously to find an out, an excuse, any rational explanation to give to Cas for why he would be naked and covered in dried semen in Dean’s bed. _Well yes, we went out and you got stupid drunk and hooked up with a chick and we brought her back here to my room cause we couldn’t find yours and she’s already left but well done buddy she was really hot what do you mean you don’t remember, Cas, it sure looks like you had a great time , I -_

 

It was too late. Cas stirred and rolled onto his back then, blinking up at him with  sleepy blue eyes. "Hello Dean," the angel mumbled softly, lips spreading into a slow smile that lit up his entire face.

 

Dean stopped breathing and could only watch like a deer in the headlights as Cas turned towards him, propped himself up on an elbow and leant in to kiss him gently on the lips. 

 

At the feeling of the his friend’s soft, chapped lips, Dean’s body snapped out of its emergency program, air flooding his lungs as he gasped against Cas’ mouth. 

 

The angel pulled back, a twinkle in his deep blue eyes and looked at aDean lovingly for a moment before lowering his head onto the hunter’s shoulder, nose nuzzling against Dean’s neck. 

 

"Hey, Cas," Dean finally responded, embarrassed by how high and choked his voice was, panic still flooding his system. "So, uh, bu- Cas. You, ah - remember last night?" 

 

From this angle, Dean couldn’t see Cas face, but he could feel the angel smile even more widely against him, nose crinkling and lips spreading wide, and he could feel little puffs of air tickling his neck as Cas chuckled. 

 

"Yes, Dean. I do. I might have underestimated my resistance to intoxication, but it seems that at least the aftereffects are limited," Cas answered, sounding thoroughly amused. And _happy. Shit. Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen Cas this happy._

 

If the angel noticed Dean’s rigid posture or the loud, adrenaline-fuelled thumping of his heart, he didn’t remark on it. Instead, Dean could feel a warm hand slide up his side and come to rest on his chest as Cas drew closer and _fucking well snuggled against him._

 

The noise of Cas’ contented sigh was drowned out by the roar of blood rushing in Dean’s ears as a million different thoughts in a thousand different voices bounced around his head like a flurry of demented rubber balls, slamming into the inside of his cranium in time with the hammering of his hangover headache. _Shit shit shit I’m in bed with my best friend with Cas with an angel fuck a guy not even a human guy fuck I had sex with him with a guy an angel guy no that can’t I’m not into guys I’m not gay I’m not I I gotta get out of this bed, gotta get away, 'm not a fucking faggot, but Cas - Cas is - is he? - did he say? last night? gay porn - no, Cas can’t be - he - shit - even if, ’s not bad, not for him, ’s still Cas - just -_

 

The angel’s stubble grazed across his shoulder and something short-circuited in Dean’s brain. Suddenly, a voice that sounded remarkably like an angry John Winchester won out over the others and bellowed at him to fucking MOVE. 

 

His taut muscles shifted him away from Cas and into a sitting position faster than Dean would have thought possible, the urge to get away all-encompassing.  But at Cas’ surprised yelp at suddenly losing the warm support of the hunter’s body, Dean reacted instinctively, catching the angel by the shoulders. Which brought them face-to-face in one of their trademark intense stare-offs. At seeing the confusion and beginnings of hurt in his friend’s eyes, the furious voice in Dean’s head droned out into an angry buzzing. 

 

"Dean?" Cas asked uncertainly. "Are you alright?" 

 

The hunter could only stare at the angel dumbly, utterly transfixed, even as an angry _No I’m not. We fucked and I’m not fucking gay._ clawed its way up his throat in a voice that wasn’t his. 

 

"Yeah -" he heard himself rasp out in a shaky voice. "Cas - last night was -" _a massive mistake. Shit we should never have done that._ "We were -" _Stupid. Wrong. Fucked-up. Insane._ "- drunk. Are you -" _An actual fucking fag- gay?_ "Do you want -" _me_ "this?"

 

For a moment, Cas continued to stare at Dean, confusion written plainly on his sleepy face. Then, something seemed to fall into place and his eyes lit up in comprehension. Slowly, he raised a hand to the Winchester’s face and cupped his cheek. Dean’s breath hitched. 

 

"Dean," the angel rumbled in his gravelly voice, "I may have been intoxicated, but if you are worried about the issue of consent, let me assure you that you did not take advantage of me." 

 

Dean’s brain contorted in an angry throb and he wanted to yell at Cas that he was getting this all wrong. But the man in front of him did not give him the chance. 

 

"I have wanted this since before I even knew what _this_ was," Cas said quietly, letting his eyes fall to Dean’s lips and licking his own hungrily. "At the time - I - I did not understand why I felt this drawn to you, what it meant, even as I rebelled against heaven for you, gave everything, fell." His eyes found Dean’s again and at the unlimited affection the hunter saw in them, fear seared through his very core. "And even when I finally understood, I never thought I could have this, have you." 

 

"Cas, I -" Dean blurted before his brain gave permission. The rest of his sentence stuck in his throat, though. "I’m -" _not gay. not into guys. not into you._

 

Even in his own head the words rang hollow as he looked into Cas’ cobalt-blue eyes, then, unable to hold his intense stare any longer, let his gaze trail over the man in front of him. Cas was a canvas of tan skin and strong muscles, marred only by purple lovebites on his neck and shoulders. His chest and stomach were flat and toned, but with a slight beginning of pudge around his belly. A thin line of downy dark hairs ran from his belly button down towards his groin, vanishing under the blankets that mercifully still covered the angel’s lap. Even with the linen in the way, though, Dean could see his friend’s prominent erection straining upward. 

 

_Fuck._

 

At the sight, a rush of white-hot memories seared through Dean’s brain - of what it had felt like to have Cas’ warm dick slide along his thigh only minutes ago, of what it had felt like in his hand last night when he had leant over the kitchen chair, thrown caution to the wind and reached into Cas’ pants, of the excitement surging through him when the angel had moaned and bucked and rutted against him needily, of the feeling of being utterly filled and _complete_ when his cock had finally slipped inside him, velvety and hot. 

 

_Fuck._

 

Fire flaming in his cheeks, Dean stared down at his own lap, mortified at the undeniable proof of his own arousal. 

 

Cas huffed a laugh and Dean’s eyes flew back up to his face, only to find the angel grinning at him in amusement. His lips were stretched so wide that all of Cas’ teeth were bared and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

 

 _And fuck it if seeing Cas this happy didn’t_ do _things to Dean’s heart._

 

"It’s alright, Dean," Cas said fondly, shifting forwards onto his knees and pulling the blankets spread between them out of the way.

 

A second later, Dean found himself with a lapful of _very_ aroused angel. 

 

A low whine escaped his throat at the feeling of Cas’ erection sliding alongside his own and he couldn’t help but look down between them to see the angel’s swollen dick rubbing against his own. A moan that he barely recognised as his own erupted from his lips, but was instantly muffled when Cas pressed their mouths together. 

 

The kiss was a warm, comforting slide of lips against lips and tongue against tongue. It was slow and lazy and held nothing of the desperation of last night. Instead, Dean groaned at the tenderness he could feel in Cas’ every touch. The _love._

 

 _Shit he loves me._ Dean’s mind helpfully supplied, even though the thought echoed hollow. He knew in his soul that he was undeserving - of Cas, of the devotion he showed him, of all that he had done for him. 

 

Castiel smiled agains his lips, then moved away from his mouth, trailing scorching kisses along his jawline, back to his ear, nibbling softly at his lobe. 

 

Even as his gasps and moans filled the stuffy air of his bedroom, Dean felt himself transported, disembodied, rushing through a whirlwind of memories of everything that Cas had done for him, everything he’d _given._

 

 _He’d lost his family, his home, his wings, his grace, his sanity, his life, his everything just for_ Dean. _He’d literally torn worlds apart to keep him happy, to protect him, had fought his way through hell and purgatory, had defied everything he’d ever stood for. And what for? What had Dean ever given him in return?_

 

Abruptly, Dean was reeled back into his body when Cas wrapped his strong, broad fingers around both their lengths. Instinctively, his hips snapped forward and both the hunter and his angels groaned when their dicks slid together hotly, pre-come leaking from their heads. 

 

_But he could give him this._

 

 _He_ wanted _to give him this._ Dean realised with a lightning bolt of shock. _All the times his fingers had twitched to touch his friend, to fix his tie, brush his hair back, run along that bottom lip, all the times deep blue eyes and a gravelly voice had invaded his dreams and fantasies, all the times he had resolutely pushed down those thoughts because he just_ could not - 

 

_No more._

 

With a hot wave of determination, Dean moved, raising his hands to hold Castiel’s head, reeling the angel in for a passionate kiss. Cas moaned against him, eagerly sliding his tongue into the hunter’s warm mouth, stuttering slightly in the rhythm of his hips. 

 

Pulling back from the kiss with a grin on his face, Dean let his hands trail down Cas’ shoulders, his muscled back, eventually coming to rest on the swell of his ass. With a groan of contentment, he dug his fingers into the soft flesh, pulling Cas forward, rutting against him, picking up a new rhythm. 

 

"Dean! Aaah!" the other man moaned against him, fingers twitching around their erections, even as he let his body be used by his lover. 

 

"Fuck! Cas!" Dean groaned, thrusting into Cas’ tight grip, already feeling the beginnings of the white-hot static of orgasm buzz in his belly. "I - ah - I want you - ah!" he panted, unable to finish the sentence. _I want you inside me._ The realisation swept through Dean like a tsunami wave, overpowering and all-encompassing. In the haze of pleasure, with self-doubt and long-learned doctrines long-drowned out by the ecstasy of Cas’ touch, he realised that he meant it. He wanted it. Needed it. Needed Cas to hold him, to fill him, to reach that feeling of completion, that sense of safety and contentment that he’d experienced the night before when the angel had been buried in him all the way. 

 

_Fuck._

 

Cas fixed his piercing blue eyes on him, though they were glassy with pleasure, and grinned even more widely. "Later, Dean -" he gasped, just before breaking out into a long moan, the rhythm of his hips stuttering, becoming erratic. "Aaahhh! Deeeeaaaan!" 

 

In a split second, Dean felt every muscle of Cas’ body go rigid and his eyes flew down between them just in time to see the first long rope of white come shoot out of the angel’s cock. Only when some of it hit his face and his tongue was suddenly filled with a salty taste that was just so _Cas_ did he realise that his mouth had been hanging open in shock. 

 

Still bucking against him, Cas groan at the sight of Dean tasting his come and Dean watched, enraptured, as another spurt of white liquid erupted from the dick sliding against his, slicked already by the first load of come. It was this sight that sent him tumbling head-first over the edge and a moment later, he was rutting and screaming and watching as his own semen mingled with Cas’, as the heads of their dicks slid in and out of Cas’ fist. 

 

Cas jerked Dean through his orgasm, only stopping when the hunter whined with oversensitivity, falling against the angel’s chest, utterly spent. Wiping the worst of the mess they’d made between them on the sheets, Cas raised one hand to Dean’s head and let his fingers tangle in the short blond locks he’d been itching to touch again since he had deposited the hunter’s rebuilt body back on earth. Dean hummed against him at the feeling of Cas fingertips dragging gently along his scalp. 

 

For a few minutes, they sat like this in complete contentment, Cas straddling Dean’s lap, stroking his hair with his lover leaning into him. 

 

Eventually, Dean raised his head, looking up at Cas. "So - really? Me?" he asked, jokingly, but Cas could hear the profound uncertainty lurking just below the surface of the other man’s humorous tone. _You don’t think you deserve to be saved._

 

"As long as you will have me, Dean." Cas responded, utterly serious, and watched something break in the hunter. Unable to hold his gaze, Dean lowered his head again, burying his head in Cas’ shoulder. For a moment, Cas could have sworn that he felt the wetness of tears against his skin, but he couldn’t be sure - and even if it were the case, he would not remark on it. 

 

When Dean spoke again some moments later, his voice was still light, but filled with emotion. "Well then you’d better settle in, angel. Cause you’re gonna be stuck with me." 

 

In response, Cas could only press a gentle kiss to the crown of the hunter’s head. 

 

Some time later, they shifted position, wiping away the worst of the mess with some tissues Dean kept in his bedside drawer, and pulling the blankets back over themselves. 

 

Without a comment, Cas snuggled up to Dean from behind and held the hunter close against himself, interlacing their fingers over Dean’s chest. The Winchester was beyond protest. 

 

"So, Cas, Just one question," Dean said eventually through the comfortable post-coital cocoon of intimacy. 

 

Half-asleep already again, Cas only hummed in assent. 

 

"Where did you learn to have sex like that? I mean - I know there was that reaper Chick and the babysitter porn, but -" Dean broke off, somewhat embarrassed when Cas laughed softly against the back of his neck. 

 

"Naxos," he replied amusedly. "It’s an island in Greece," he explained, a moment later, seemingly sensing the hunter’s confusion. "I was there in 221 BC and witnessed the local celebrations of Bacchus, the god of wine and fertility. Bacchanalia they were called. Though to see and to practice are two different things, my observations have come in … handy."

 

Dean snorted in amusement, picturing the stiff, robot-like version of Cas stare squinty-eyed at a drunken sex fest, trying to figure out human anatomy and behavioural patterns. 

 

"You gotta tell me about that sometime, Cas - because it sounds -" 

 

Exactly what the idea of a Bacchanalia sounded like to Dean, Cas never got to find out. For in that moment, the bedroom door slammed open with a loud bang. 

 

Sam stood in the door in his pjs, panting heavily, an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. 

 

"Dean! Are you al-" he managed to ask, before his brain registered the sight in front of him. His brother and his best friend, obviously naked, utterly debauched-looking, _spooning happily_ and staring at him aghast. 

 

"Umm," he said intelligently even as his brain emitted a pitiful error message and crashed, mental screen going black.  A few heartbeats later, it rebooted, hummed furiously and initiated _Theyrefukingfinallyactcoolaboutit.exe._

 

A shaky smile spreading on his face, Sam gestured towards the pair on the bed with the empty bottle. "This was full when I went to bed last night. Just checking you were still breathing, dude."  Dean just stared at him with wide eyes, face ashen grey. 

 

"I’m going to start breakfast, if you want some," Sam continued, nonplussed, as he reached for the door. Just before he pulled it shut behind himself, the younger Winchester turned around to shoot the couple a final grin and a parting: "Oh and congratulations. It was about time." 

 

With Sammy gone and seemingly _utterly unsurprised_ by the situation, Dean buried his head in the pillow, trying not to contemplate how utterly unrecognisable his life had become over the past twelve hours. For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him. 

 

Then Cas shifted, pulling him close again and Dean sighed. 

 

Yes, they still had shit going on. With the Mark, with Cas’ fading grace, not to mention all the usual monsters out for their heads. But just now, with Sam so obviously on their side, and with the angel’s arms around him, it seemed like he might just be able to deal with it. Deal with it and be happy. 

 


End file.
